


Preemptive redemption

by corsairspade



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Human Experimentation, Implied Human Experimentation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-01-23 08:16:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18545860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corsairspade/pseuds/corsairspade
Summary: AU where class 77 finds Kamukura Izuru before Junko does. Shit proceeds to get real.





	1. a less impressive Houdini

Kamukura Izuru sits on a bed, in a facility, underground.

 

This is fact.

 

Kamukura Izuru finds most everything boring.

This too, is fact.

  

The last scientist on staff for the day leaves. Now it is just him and the security guards.

 

Kamukura contemplates leaving.

 

No. It would be boring to go to that effort.

 

* * *

 

 

There are new people - different people in the lab. This is different than the norm. That does not make it significant. Nor does it make this evening exciting.

 

It’s monotonous when you know everything.

There is a girl in the doorway. She is 164 centimetres and 9.98 millimeters. Kamukura knows that she will be written as 165 in any official report. Her hair is short. It is red. She has a camera in one hand. Kamukura heard the shutter go off earlier, down the hall. Her voice is accusing and bold.

 

She is boring.

 

Kamukura ignores her.

 

She frowns at him. She calls for someone.

 

One second. Two seconds. Three seconds. Seventeen seconds.

 

The boy who arrives is small. Childlike. Insecure about it, most likely. Dressed in a suit. He wields some type of authority. Someone’s shadow is projected against his shoe. A bodyguard, perhaps.

 

He too, is boring.

 

There is brief conversation. Names filter through Kamukura‘s ears. Akane, Tanaka Nevermind HiyokoPekoyamaNekomaruKomeada- Nanami.

 

The name is odd.

 

Familiar?

 

Why would it be-

 

Kamukura has an ache in his head.

 

This has been happening more and more frequently. Strange things trigger it. A scientist spoke about Galaga with a coworker. One of his handlers complained of being tired.

Kamukura has not brought up the instances with those who are studying him. It feels personal. It is something solely his. A ringing in his ears. A pain just behind his eyes.

 

Nanami. Different. Not part of the dull monotony.

 

Others have arrived. He tilts his head.

 

A girl draped in pink and blue and white and black and loud loud loud-

 

She screeches, startled.

 

Kamukura decides that loud people edge slightly towards more irritating than boring.

 

The rest of the teenagers turn to her as she babbles aimlessly about how she was so sure that the weird guy in the dark moved. Kamukura ponders that. Is he weird? He brings the definition to the front of his mind. In a sense, he supposes he is. Textbook, weird, even. That too, is boring.

 

They mumble amongst themselves some more. Experiment, he hears. A wisp of a girl with choppy hair and an apron mumbles her disbelief. A boy with white hair stares, unabashed, something tense in his body language, something clever in his eyes. Kamukura studies him. He is gorgeous, in a way, like the way a dandelion is beautiful because it is temporary.

  

An athletic form, with silver braids that trickle down broad, muscled shoulders takes one, two, three, four, then the half shuffle it took to cross Kamukura’s... room? Containment unit? Cell? It didn’t matter. She is armed. However, she is not a threat. No one is a threat. He is talent.

 

Her voice is calm, professional. Cold and biting. If Kamukura had ever left the facility, he would have conjured up the feeling of snow being crunched against his face.

 

“My name is Peko Pekoyama. I am the ultimate swordsman. Who are you?”

 

She doesn’t know. They do not know. They know that something has happened down here, in the dark. They do not know what. It’d be almost refreshing, if it wasn’t so boring.

 

To answer, or not.

 

Maybe the outside will be interesting?

 

“Kamukura Izuru. I am...”

 

Bored.

 

He shakes his head minutely.

 

“They call me the ultimate hope.”

 

The collection of what are presumably ultimate students subconsciously turn towards the boy with white hair. One in a jumpsuit scratches the back of his head.

“Jeez, is this like your fantasy Komeada?”

 

The boy with white hair- Komeada, apparently, makes a strangled noise. His eyes are alight with something. He seems to be torn between reaching out to Kamukura and running away.

 

Pekoyama puts a halt to the oncoming nonsense with a curt nod to Kamukura’s introduction.

 

“Would you like to leave here with us, Kamukura?”

 

A coincidence that he had entertained the thought earlier. Still. Perhaps it will be different, considering the company.

 

Doubtful.

 

He stands. It is as good an answer as any.

 

There is a crowd of 15 at the door, in the corridor. He will make 16. Sixteen is the fourth power of two. For this reason, 16 was used in weighing light objects in several cultures. The British have 16 ounces in one pound; the Chinese used to have 16 liangs in one jin.

 

Chinese Taoists did finger computation on the trigrams and hexagrams by counting the finger tips and joints of the fingers with the tip of the thumb. Each hand can count up to 16 in such a manner. The Chinese abacus uses two upper beads to represent the 5s and 5 lower beads to represent the 1s, the 7 beads can represent a hexadecimal digit from 0 to 15 in each column.

 

Kamukura should not know this.

The information feels forced into his brain, as if someone took out all the drawers in his psyche and shoved them full of knowledge, making the drawers difficult to tug out or push in.

 

Kamukura walks through the door.

He does not look back.

 

There is a headache pounding behind his eyes, and a girl with bruise coloured eyelids staring at him.

 

“Hinata-kun?”

 

His name is Kamukura Izuru.

 

He is the ultimate hope.

 

Her name is Ch- Her name is- Her name is Nanami.

Her hands are clawed slightly, from too many hours spent on video games. Her face is perhaps a tad too round, and her eyes will need glasses in her late thirties, the strain of the blue light on her doleful gaze unconducive to continued 20/20 vision. She has squared shoulders, the faintest slump.

 

She looks like her world has been turned on its head.

 

Perhaps it has.

 

How boring.


	2. Level escape!!

Hajime Hinata. Ha-ji-me Hi-na-ta. Breaking it down into syllables makes it seem less real. Sure- the hair, dripping like oil slick to the ground is different, as are the startling red eyes against a paper-white face. But Chiaki has played enough games with bosses having evolved forms that she knows exactly who this is. 

 

Hajime Hinata, who had disappeared months ago, with hardly a word goodbye, who she had spent weeks agonising over, fretting about, considering breaking into the reserve course for. Hajime Hinata, with the faintest scar on his forehead as he stared her down, blank, cold, empty.

 

Perhaps he wasn’t quite Hajime Hinata. 

 

Chiaki raises a hand as if to touch him, stopping right by his jaw. This can’t be real. This is like something out of the most dramatic game she ever played.

 

“Hinata-kun? I thought-“

Her voice catches, then breaks. Princess Nevermind (“Call me Sonia, Nanami-chan! I am here to become, as the kids say, part of your squad!”) glances at her, worriedly, hand coming to rest on her shoulder.

 

“Nanami-chan, this is Kamukura-san. Are you quite alright?”

 

Chiaki can’t speak. All she can do is stare at the boy she thought was her closest friend, words turning to ash on her tongue and bile in her throat. Kamukura? She almost feels angry- this is Hajime Hinata, this is her friend, what do you mean, Kamukura? She can feel her resolve hardening.

 

“Hinata. No. Hajime-kun, it’s me. Chiaki. I’m- we’re. You know me.”

 

Her best friend pushes her still outstretched hand away from his face, expressionless. 

 

“My name is Kamukura Izuru. We have never met.”

 

Her heart shatters. She can feel hot, salty tears burning at her eyes. Sonia’s hand tightens on her shoulder slightly, shocked. 

 

“No! Your name is-“

 

Pekoyama cuts her off, in a surprising display of command. Chiaki is almost glad for it as she chokes up. She doesn’t think she can articulate her feelings as of this moment.

 

“Nanami-san, Kamukura-san. Perhaps we could continue this conversation elsewhere? We were lucky to avoid those guards as we entered, and we will need to be even more so on our departure.”

 

And from there on, Chiaki knows how it will go, her classmates falling into a familiar pattern. Komeada rambles about luck, leaving him behind, if only for the ultimate hope. Saionji calls him a creepy old man, who sounds like a zombie with a death rattle. Komeada laughs. Tanaka makes a grandiose statement about the occult, which Sonia claps her hands to, delightedly. Souda sulks. Mitarai mumbles something, making Mioda squeal and Tsumiki shake. It’s like watching a cutscene of a game that makes the same joke over and over again.

 

Some things are different, though. Kuzuryuu and Pekoyama stand differently, like they know each other. How would they know each other? (Chiaki knows how they could know each other. She does not want to think about it, so she doesn’t.) Hanamura isn’t making the same creepy advances as he does to everyone he meets, instead watching not-Hajime with a considering expression. Owari and Nidai are riling each other up, as per usual, but they seem off- quieter due to the unfamiliar presence. Chiaki didn’t think it possible. 

 

Koizumi is staring at her camera. This is not unusual- she’s the ultimate photographer after all. But Koizumi is usually so outspoken, taking control of any situation she can. It’s not always good, and it’s not always bad, but it’s a trait she has and Chiaki notices its absence. Chiaki is good at noticing things- she’s no Kirigiri, the headmaster’s daughter with the famous talent of solving crime- but she’s a professional gamer. She’s spent hours and days and weeks curled around a gaming device of one sort or another, grinding out spot the difference levels, reading into the subtext of her favourite characters.

 

Koizumi is not playing her part. She’s not telling Komeada off for being creepy and unreliable, or sweetly reeling Saionji back in.

 

Koizumi is looking at her camera and she shouldn’t be. It doesn’t fit. Several things don’t fit. Not-Hajime doesn’t fit, Kuzuryuu and Pekoyama don’t fit (They do, but she’s not thinking about that, no way), Nidai and Owari are off. Chiaki thinks she understands the concept of the uncanny valley now. Not-Hajime is, well, in short, not Hajime. But he’s close. It’s her friend, she knows it. She isn’t blind. But at the same time, it isn’t. It’s like someone’s taken Hajime and shoved something else in there. 

 

She jolts as they start moving, eyes still starting between Koizumi and not-Hajime, as Komeada leads the way. She’d expected Nidai to take point, but Sonia, ever delicate and diplomatic, suggested that the ultimate luckster should lead them, hoping for a chance that they would avoid the guards a second time. Chiaki forces herself to yank her eyes away from not-Hajime. It’s a common tactic in games to put in Easter eggs, and Chiaki needs all the clues she can find to advance to the next level with the correct amount of points.

 

It’s then that she notices the water cannons mounted in the ceiling, pointed inwards, not out. She sees the positions of the cameras and realises that the way they’re set up- well. 

 

“Mitarai-San? I was wondering, with those security cameras, what kind of shot would they get?”

 

Mitarai freezes, nervous energy rippling through him. It takes him a moment longer than she thinks it should for him to respond- after all, he’s the ultimate animator. He should be intensely aware of angles and shots. But he answers and the thought is pushed from her mind in a brief instant.

 

“They’re- huh. They’re focusing on anyone leaving, not entering.”

 

This is starting to paint a picture that Chiaki doesn’t like. Her hands clutch at her skirt, and she can feel salt aggravating her tired eyes. She feels like a crybaby today, though she supposes that it’s justified. Hajime is- well. He’s something. 

 

Somehow, they avoid the guards again. Part of Chiaki can’t help but feel that Komaeda's mere presence is a cheat code, bumping them through the levels with buffs. The other parts can’t feel at all. Hajime. Hajime. Hajime. His name starts to sound fake.

 

“So this is what outside is like.”

Not-Hajime speaks again. He looks like a ghost, or a vampire. His words have no inflection. Chiaki still feels sad. He’s not joking. He’s never- she quells some of her fury, but it’s all she can think about- water cannons, security footage, never being outside. The faint scar against his forehead. 

 

What have they done to him?

 

Chiaki is tired. She is so, so tired. 

 

Someone laughs, nervously. Is it time for an expositional cutscene? 

 

Maybe.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> It was fun to try a slightly different style with Nanami and I hope I did her justice- I never liked how the anime seemed to strip away parts of her character, so this is me saying that we should respect female characters as more than 2d images that play love interests. Thank you for the reviewers who told me they wanted more :') It really motivated me! 
> 
> If you have ideas/theories about what's gonna happen next, or you'd like the next chapter to be in a specific character's viewpoint, I am all ears!
> 
> I've updated the tags to include the things I'm implying, though as of this moment, I'm not planning to go into detail about what happened to Hajime/Izuru in the lab. Chiaki is an observant girl and I felt that she would notice things like that.
> 
> Many thanks to my friend Lilly for being my quasi-beta!


	3. Mary Shelley would weep

Mikan Tsumiki learnt from a very young age that there was no one in the world who was going to take care of her and so, she would have to learn to take care of herself.

 

She learnt how to disinfect grazed knees, soothe abrasions, bandage wounds. As she became more and more adept in taking care of herself, Mikan realised she could be there for other people too.  It started with volunteering to help at the school nurse’s office, rolling up bandages, organising cupboards. Then it was at homeless shelters, administering first aid, making a difference. 

 

For all intents and purposes, Mikan Tsumiki appeared to be an angel, drawing herself up from a rough childhood to ensure that no one else would suffer. And in part- yes. But in part- no.

 

As Mikan explored her interest in nursing, she realised that it gave her a feeling of control over sick and injured people. It forced weaker people to depend on her completely, their lives in her hands. Of course, she wasn’t proud of it- no one is proud of things that make them seem lesser. But Mikan Tsumiki found a certain sense of comfort in being relied on, in being powerful. In being revered in someone’s eyes as someone who cured their ailments, saved their lives.

 

Mikan Tsumiki took one look at the facility and felt sick.

 

It was like someone had taken all her guilty happiness at being wanted and shouted it through a megaphone- look at me, look what I can do, look what I’ve made. Kamukura Izuru felt like someone had ripped into her heart, basked in the joy of being appreciated, then tried their best to do something incredible, without stopping to think if they should. He was a blank slate, utterly reliant on whoever kept him in that underground facility to keep him safe and alive, and for the truth. 

 

Because, well, Mikan Tsumiki wasn’t blind. She could see the scar around his forehead from surgery, faint though it was. It was clearly the work of a highly-skilled surgeon, with years of practice and very steady hands. And while she knew that brain surgery was performed for a number of reasons, including alterations in brain tissue or brain blood flow, the placement of those scars didn’t line up with any typical surgery in her repertoire.

 

It lined up with a hypothetical she had been posed with before though, by a council member of the academy’s board, something she had thought was just a curious question to test her skills.

 

She had a sinking feeling that it was more of a consultancy.

 

The group is quiet as they stand around on the grass, so tense and awkward, Mikan feels like apologising just for existing. No one knows what to say to Kamukura’s quiet statement, least of all her, and the silence hangs, the air so thick that it’s practically choking her. 

Fuyuhiko breaks the silence, and Mikan is quietly grateful for his sometimes brash nature and leadership skills.

“Alright- look, I know that we went down there ‘cause I thought that somethin’ was shifty with the way the books were balanced when my people took a look at ‘em for Nanami-chan, but I wasn’t expecting a whole ass person. Anyone got anything they’d like to fuckin’ share with the class? Class pres?”

 

He stands with his hands in fists on his hips, surveying the class with a glare. Nanami is off in her own world, staring at the class’ newest acquisition. Kamukura just looks- bored. It’s strange. Mikan is well aware that her class is filled with colourful characters with wild personalities that befuddle and perplex most.

 

Kamukura doesn’t seem to care.

 

The class remains silent, until Saionji speaks, her whiny, irritating- no, Mikan, you can’t think of her like that.

Saionji speaks up. 

“What I wanna know, baby gangsta, is why Peko -chan and you seem so goddamn friendly. Did you two hook up or something? That’s so totally gross! Mahiru-chan, don’t you agree that it’s so, totally gross?”

 

Mahiru sighs, looking up from her camera, beginning to admonish Saionji for her crudeness, when Pekoyama interrupts. It startles Mikan a bit. She’s always been very good at reading faces, but Pekoyama‘s is a stone wall, icy cold and almost scary.

 

“No. If you are not going to contribute to the conversation properly, Saionji-san, I request that you stay silent.”

 

There’s a moment of tense shock. Pekoyama never reacted to taunts. She never interrupted.

Today is a day of firsts, Mikan supposes. 

 

Saionji is startled into silence, and Pekoyama continues, her crisp voice carrying a weight that seems to affect even the most irresponsible of the class.

 

“Kamukura-san. Would you mind explaining to us why exactly you were in that cell- in a secret facility under a school, with armed guards, no less?”

 

Kamukura just gazes at them all, unblinking. 

 

“You can figure that out. You have the facts, do you not?”

 

Pekoyama shakes her head, her twin braids swaying with the movement. In her moment of recalculation, Princess Nevermind steps in, ever the diplomat.

 

“Izuru-kun- I can call you Izuru-kun, yes? I am Sonia Nevermind, Princess of Novoselic. While I am sure we could eventually come to a conclusion, there is, of course, the chance that we may come to one that is erroneous, or take quite some time to reach it. The conditions you were held in were quite concerning, and I do believe that hearing the circumstances from your own mouth will calm us all greatly.”

 

Cold jealousy pulses through Mikan for a moment. Sonia’s poise and grace, her elocution and temperance- Mikan could tell how wanted and revered Sonia was, just by looking at her. 

 

Kamukura tilts his head, long, black hair falling over his shoulders. It’s gorgeous, but all that Mikan can think about is that it must be very, very heavy.

 

“A name is a name. I do not care what you call me. Ask your nurse friend and luckster, Princess. You’ll get there.”

 

Komeada jumps- he did mention his talent while they were walking back, but is clearly startled that Kamukura was paying attention. Mikan cowers under everyone’s gaze, covering her face with her arms to avoid having to see anyone.

 

“Well?” Kuzuryuu barks. “Spit it out, both of youse. Make it snappy.”

 

Mikan and Komeada glance at each other, nervously. The silence grows thick again before Komaeda breaks it with his signature self-deprecating laugh.

 

“Oh, I can only theorise- after all, I’m nothing like you brilliant ultimates, you know? I’m sure-“

 

Kuzuryuu silences him with a glare.

 

“Cut that shit out, Komeada, ‘fore I get real sick of it, yeah?”

 

Komeada nods frantically, willing to do anything to please an ultimate student, turning to address Mikan.

 

“Tsumiki-san, would you mind sharing what you are thinking at the moment?”

 

She squeaks- but. Everyone is relying on her. Everyone needs her. She is in control. She drops her arms from covering her face and squares her shoulders.

 

“Kamukura-san has a faint scar along his forehead, that is not placed where most scars from brain surgery to remove a tumour or the like would be. He- well- Nanami-chan said he was someone else, right? It could be- well, maybe- ah, I’m only guessing here, please don’t take my word on this, but um, ah. I believe that he may have undergone some sort of surgery that could have caused that?”

 

Kamukura watches Mikan closely.

 

“I have never met her before in my life.”

 

Mikan crumples a little, frightened.

 

Komeada picks up the commentary though, eyes alight with a fire that is usually reserved for his frantic rambling about hope.

 

“Ah- Kamukura-san is the ultimate hope, no? The ultimate culmination of talent is the definition of that. And the school funding leading us to the facility- Kamukura-san, would I be correct in thinking that you are a creation of Hope’s Peak Academy?”

 

No one says a word as they turn to Kamukura.

 

“I suppose you could phrase it like that.”

 

And the class bursts into chatter and surprise, ranging from disgust, to concern, to interest. 

 

Kamukura stands, unaffected.

 

Nanami just stares.

 

Mikan shudders, hands trembling, as she looks at a dead man’s parasite.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hm. I'm not totally happy with this chapter, so I might come back and edit it sometime!  
> If you're enjoying this fic, consider checking out my interactive comic on Instagram! https://www.instagram.com/p/B0BD8csAvAP/?hl=en

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Thanks for reading.  
> This is my first foray into Danganronpa fiction. Izuru is a favourite of mine and I hope I do him justice! 
> 
> I'm unsure if I'll write more chapters for this, but if anyone would like that, I'll happily do so!


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